My Noble Knight
by gomababe
Summary: A request fanfic. Lots of Scotland/France and rated for suggestive themes and Scotland's mouth


A/N: A request from Allison-san, so I'll be using her OC's name for Scotland in this. Set in 1421 during the Battle of Bauge. Scotland is not at all pleased with his youngest brother at this point in time. I saw England taking advantage of the fact that his oldest brother was apparently distracted to go pay 'the frog' a visit during what was supposed to be a truce. The sneaky bastard.

...

France sighed as he looked out over the battlements of the castle he and his men were stationed in. It was Easter and while the nation was glad of the truce he and England had agreed to observe the holiday, he was getting fed up of the constant battles and current siege he was supposedly under. France looked to the golden band on his left ring finger; Scotland was currently camped near a town at Le Lude and, while nearby, was not nearly close enough for the blonde nation to risk going outside of the castle walls. France frowned as he noticed something dash across the field just at the very edge of his vision. There weren't supposed to be any scouts of any kind going about right now. France gasped in pain as he was pushed forward onto the stonework,

"Well, well, well, look at what I've found." A voice sneered from behind him. France growled,

"Vous bâtard anglais." He hissed, "You said there was a truce!" England scoffed as he turned the Frenchman to look at him,

"I never said how long it was going to last." He sneered, "That's what you get for letting your guard down." France shot the younger nation an acidic glare as his hand inched towards his sword,

"Then perhaps I should teach you some manners." He growled. England, however, was quick to stop him,

"Ah, ah, ah," he chided, grabbing France's wrists and pushing his hands to his side, "Frogs shouldn't play with sharp objects." England leaned in closer, squirming one of his legs in between France's, his gaze becoming heated. France froze, his mind going blank. Surely the other nation wasn't... oh _Dieu_ he was. England leered at the French man as he let go of one of his wrists, the hand inching up his leg. It was at this point England felt a knife at his throat,

"Gie me one guid reason why I shouldnae slit yer fuckin' throat right this second, ye mangy little mutt." A heavily accented voice growled dangerously in his ear. England glared out the corner of his eye at his oldest brother and let his free hand drop. He sneered at the Celtic nation,

"I thought you were tied up in that little scuffle over by Le Lude?" he said nonchalantly. Scotland snorted,

"Yer little scheme didnae work. I kent ye would be up to somethin' an' had scouts keepin' an eye oot." He pulled the younger nation away from France, who sagged slightly in relief, "Oh an' we've went an' captured the Earls o' Somerset and Huntingdon, so ye might want tae give up and go oan home afore I dae somethin' mair drastic wi' them." He threatened. England managed to wriggle out of Scotland's grasp and dusted himself off, trying to look dignified,

"You just got lucky then." He sneered, "Nevertheless I will be making a tactical retreat for now, but I will be back to take this place later." He warned as he dashed back out of the castle the way he came in. Scotland glared after his brother for a few moments before turning his attention to France,

"Ye a'right? He didnae hurt ye or anythin'?" he asked gently, putting the knife away. France shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes from where it had come loose from the ribbon keeping it back,

"Non, I am fine, James." He assured the Celtic nation. Scotland sighed in relief,

"Thought I wis too late fer a second." He muttered "Bloody bastard canna keep a promise if his life depended on it." France shrugged as he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck,

"Angleterre is a terrible liar too." He said, "I thought that he would attack us 'ere, but none of my men were in the mood for listening to me." Scotland snuffed a little in amusement,

"No' like ye have tae worry aboot that when ye've got me tae look oot fer ye." He noted, placing a kiss on France's lips. The blonde nation hummed in satisfaction,

"That is true, but remember, mon couer, it goes both ways." He replied, poking at a bruise that was blossoming on the Scot's cheek. Scotland winced a little at the contact,

"Aye I ken." He said, "Ye proved that well enough last century." He added, kissing France again, this time pulling the other nation closer by the waist. France did not complain and merely leaned into the other man, sighing happily as the kiss broke off,

"Then maybe I can prove it some more in the bedroom." He purred. Scotland flushed a little at the implication,

"Ah... but Francis... it's Easter Sunday tomorrow..." France quickly silenced him with an eager kiss,

"And? As far as The Lord is concerned, we can do what we like before Mass. We are married aren't we?" he pointed out with the slightest of pouts. Scotland thought about it for a moment, looked at the golden band on his own ring finger and grinned,

"Aye, I suppose ye're richt." He agreed, sweeping France up off the floor and into his arms, causing said nation to squeak in surprise and wrap his arms instinctively around his husband's neck. Scotland kissed him again just for the hell of it then looked up at the night sky, "We've got a couple of hours left yet anyway, might as well tak' advantage." France chuckled, liking where this was headed,

"Then sweep me off, my noble knight, to whatever adventures await." He called. The two nations laughed as Scotland dashed into the castle and to France's bedchamber, where the two, inevitably, ended up missing Easter Mass. Not that either of them cared at that particular moment, all things considered.


End file.
